


The Study of Suna Rintarou

by DeathBelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College!AU, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Pining, The twins bicker as usual, They went to different high schools, and who could blame him, osamu has a crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:35:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Osamu has a lot of problems. He’s failing two of his classes, he’s late on an important term paper, and his twin brother is a constant source of irritation that has followed him like a shadow for the past nineteen years.But his biggest problem – and also the most distracting one – is his snarky, sharp-eyed classmate, Suna Rintarou.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 77
Kudos: 714
Collections: SunaOsa Valentine's Exchange





	The Study of Suna Rintarou

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluestblue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluestblue/gifts).



> Written as part of the Sunaosa Valentine's Exchange! I hope you like it! 💜

When Osamu quit volleyball after high school, he thought he would get a break. He would no longer wake up early for practice, field Atsumu’s constant texts throughout the day about new plays he wanted to try, or stay late in the gym hitting serves until his palm stung. He would be free. He would have room to breathe. He would find new hobbies and branch out and-

“’Samu! Didja see that serve? It was a good one, right?” Atsumu shouted across the gym, far too loudly considering Osamu was sitting on the bench just off-court. 

“It was alright,” said Osamu. He had not, in fact, seen that serve. His attention had been across the gym, where Suna Rintarou had started his cool-down stretches.

“Wait ‘til you see the new jump floater I’ve been workin’ on!” said Atsumu, at the same loud volume as he jogged off to grab another ball. “Go over to that side and try receivin’ it. Bet you can’t.”

Across the room near a white-painted sideline, Suna folded over his legs, chest flush against his thighs. His head was turned to one side so he could continue watching a video on his phone. Osamu wondered if it was about volleyball or if Suna, unlike Atsumu, had other interests. Maybe he liked racing, or knitting, or  _ cooking _ , which would cement Osamu’s suspicion that Suna was easy to fall in love with.

It was a stretch, considering Osamu had barely said three sentences to Suna since they’d met at the beginning of the year, but maybe three sentences were enough.

“’Samu!”

Osamu raised an arm just in time to block the volleyball flying straight at his head. It bounced away and Osamu’s forearm stung as he finally looked away from Suna to glare at his brother. " _What_ , ‘Tsumu?” 

“Try receivin’ my serve!” insisted Atsumu, plucking another volleyball out of the cart. He bounced it against the floor and caught it again. “Bet ya can’t.”

“I’m not on the team, idiot. I can’t play here.” He shouldn’t even  _ be _ here, but Atsumu had insisted that Osamu come to see his new and improved serves. Osamu would have refused if he hadn’t known Suna would be there practicing, too. 

Atsumu rolled his eyes and weighed the ball in his hand, as if he might throw this one at Osamu, too. “This ain’t a team practice, stupid. D’you see a team here?”

It certainly wasn’t the full team. There were a handful of people scattered around, on their own or in pairs. The official team practice ended an hour ago and these players had stayed over. 

“I don’t play anymore, ‘Tsumu,” said Osamu, for maybe the thirtieth time since they’d started university. 

“I know you’re a quitter, you don’t hafta remind me.” Atsumu bounced the ball again. “You can still help me practice. It’s good for ya, all that layin’ around the dorm is gonna make you weak.”

Across the gym, Suna tucked one leg beneath himself at a strange angle and collapsed again to stretch his hips, his shorts riding high.

“Fine,” said Osamu, not looking at Atsumu. “But you’re buyin’ dinner afterward.”

“Only if you can get my serve,” said Atsumu. “If you can’t, you’re buyin’.”

Osamu shouldn’t have agreed to that. It was clearly a trap. But he’d never been good at saying no to a competition, so he shrugged off his hoodie and dragged his feet to the other side of the net. 

The university gym was nice; far nicer than the one they’d practiced in during high school. The floors were so shiny that Osamu could almost see his own reflection looking back at him. The lines painted onto the court were crisp and clean, and Osamu nudged the toe of his sneaker against the out-of-bounds marker before stepping over.

High school had been less than a year ago. He shouldn’t have felt so out of place on a court, especially not since Atsumu sometimes dragged him along for practice like this. But something about it felt strange, as he centered himself and sank into a half-crouch. It was like he was borrowing someone else’s skin, like he was an imposter. 

“Ready?” called Atsumu, as he spun the ball between his hands with a wicked grin. “Oh wait, ‘course you’re not. Want me to take it easy on ya?”

“Shut up and serve the damn ball.”

Atsumu’s grin didn’t waver. Both of them knew he was incapable of taking it easy on anyone. 

Atsumu turned and took measured steps away from the painted line. Osamu didn’t bother counting them. He knew there were four steps for a jump floater. He’d learned that in high school and it hadn’t changed during Atsumu’s university games.

Atsumu whirled around, eyes gleaming, and slid one foot back. He tossed the ball, launched into a short run-up, and went airborne.

Osamu wasn’t worried. He’d received more of Atsumu’s serves over the years than he could count, and he’d gotten pretty good at it. The jump floaters were easier for him, even if they seemed to be harder for other people. He’d learned the trajectory and knew he only had to take two steps forward and-

The ball drifted midair and shot directly at Osamu’s face. It filled his vision, and he threw his arms up just in time. The ball slapped against them and bounced sadly away as Atsumu cackled across the net.

“That was pathetic!” said Atsumu, the insult echoing in the gym. “You look like you’ve never touched a volleyball in your life!”

Suna rose out of his stretch to watch them, expressionless.

“I didn’t even warm up, dumbass!” Osamu shouted back, his face heating. “Hit another one.”

Atsumu went back to the ball cart and Osamu shook out his arms, ignoring the low throb from the serve impact. 

Maybe Atsumu really had gotten better. It shouldn’t be surprising, as much time as he spent practicing. Their university team was one of the best in the country.

Osamu could’ve been on the team too, if he’d wanted. He’d gotten the same offer as his brother and had turned it down because he didn’t want to play anymore. And yet somehow he’d still ended up at the same school: sharing a dorm, listening to Atsumu gripe at all hours of the day, and standing on a volleyball court again as Atsumu took four steps.

Off to Osamu’s right, Suna sat up a little more, still watching.

Atsumu tossed, ran, launched.

This time Osamu was ready.

The ball soared across the net and Osamu got beneath it. It wasn’t the neatest bump, but the ball was in the air, and it would have been good enough for a setter like Atsumu to work with. But Atsumu was across the net, so the ball thumped to the gym floor and rolled away.

Osamu turned to Atsumu, who looked utterly betrayed.

“You’re buyin’ dinner, scrub.”

During Osamu’s first semester, he’d been naïve enough to accept whatever classes his advisor had offered. That had been a mistake, and he’d failed a class because he couldn’t keep himself from falling asleep during the seven-thirty lecture every single morning. He’d learned his lesson and this semester his earliest class started at ten, which was much more reasonable. It gave Osamu plenty of time to get ready, grab a coffee to keep himself alert, and arrive to class with a few minutes to spare. He sat on the far right side of the lecture hall near the back. No one ever sat directly beside him, which was nice, and he had a great view of the front rows, which was even nicer.

Osamu dug a notebook out of his bag, absently clicked his pen, and waited.

Five minutes after class started, Suna Rintarou slouched into the lecture hall, his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hair mussed as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He sat three rows in front of Osamu, as usual. He had a coffee from the same on-campus shop that Osamu had gone to, as usual. Fifteen minutes later he pillowed his head on his arms and seemed to go to sleep, as usual.

Osamu listened to the lecture, took notes, and spent much of his class time staring at the back of Suna’s messy hair.

He didn’t know where Suna had gone to high school, or where he was from, or anything about him, really. He only knew that Suna was the best middle blocker on Atsumu’s team and that despite his seeming standoffishness, he was so unbelievably attractive that Osamu had trouble looking at anything else when they were in a room together.

Which didn’t happen often. They only shared this one class, and Osamu didn’t think Suna even knew he was there. Osamu saw him when he tagged along with Atsumu to practice, or when he attended the university matches and tried to watch his brother play instead of pathetically staring at Suna the entire time.

Osamu had no reason to spend so much time thinking about him. This stupid crush was nothing more than that; a stupid crush. 

And yet when class ended, Osamu packed his notebook into his bag slowly so he could watch Suna emerge from his folded arms, grab his probably-cold coffee, and shuffle out of the lecture hall.

Osamu hoped they didn’t have any classes together next semester. He was barely holding his grades together and the distraction of Suna Rintarou was only making things worse.

He followed his classmates as they trickled out of the building, pausing only to toss his empty coffee cup into a nearby recycling bin. The sun was high when he emerged onto the sidewalk and he squinted against the glare. He’d bought six pairs of cheap sunglasses at the shop near campus and they kept disappearing out of his room, which would have been confusing if Atsumu hadn’t been stealing from him since they were five.

He checked the time. Eleven-thirty. His next class was in forty-five minutes. That should be just enough time for him to grab a quick lunch, finish up the homework he didn’t do last night, and make it to the classroom in time for-

“Hey. Miya.”

Osamu turned back, expecting to find one of his friends from a different class.

Instead it was Suna, a thumb hooked into the strap of his backpack, standing so close that Osamu could see the dark circles beneath his eyes.

Osamu blinked. Suna had never spoken to him except for the few times Osamu had said “Hi” or “How’s it goin’?” or “Nice block earlier”. Even then Suna had only responded with one-word answers: “Hey” and “Fine” and “Thanks”. 

A minute passed. Osamu didn’t know what to say.

Suna raised an eyebrow and said, “I’m Suna, from your brother’s team.”

Osamu almost laughed. As if he didn’t know that already. As if he hadn’t spent the past hour staring at the back of Suna’s head, wondering if his hair was soft. 

“Yeah, hey,” said Osamu. 

“You’re in my class, right?” said Suna, nodding toward the lecture hall. “I’ve seen you in there a few times.”

“Oh. Yeah, I am.”

“Did you take notes today?” asked Suna, scratching at the back of his rumpled hair. “The exam is coming up next week and I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“’Cause you were sleepin’?” asked Osamu before he could stop himself.

“I might’ve dozed off for a minute or two,” said Suna, completely neutral. “Can I borrow your notes or not?”

Osamu shrugged. “I guess.” He dug into his bag for the right notebook. “I write pretty messy, though. Dunno if you can read it.”

“I’ll figure it out. It’s better than what I have right now which is nothing.”

Osamu handed over the notebook. Suna’s fingers were long and pale. “I’ll need it back in a couple days so I can start studyin’.”

“I’ll make copies and give it to Atsumu at practice tomorrow.” Suna dropped his backpack off of his shoulder and unzipped it to shove Osamu’s notebook inside. “Thanks. I can’t afford to fail another class, I might get kicked from the team.”

“Yeah, no problem,” said Osamu. He wanted to say more. He could ask what other classes Suna was taking, or how long he’s played volleyball, or how he likes his eggs in the morning. But Suna was clearly only talking to him because he needed something, so Osamu just said, “See ya around, I guess.”

“Yeah, see you.” Suna slung his backpack on and gave Osamu a lazy wave as he walked off. 

Osamu didn’t watch him go, he didn’t notice the way Suna’s sweatpants hugged his thighs, and he certainly didn’t wish he was that notebook so he could spend a night in Suna’s room.

The next day was mostly the same as the last. Osamu felt like most days were the same lately. It was like getting caught in a constant cycle: class, food, class, sleep, class, food, class, sleep.

It was repetitive, but not necessarily in a bad way. Osamu was content. He went to his classes, had an early dinner at one of his favorite spots (he decided not to tell Atsumu, because he would whine about not being included), and spent an hour in the library until he realized he was better off studying at home. The most pressing exam was the one for the class he shared with Suna, and he couldn’t prepare for that one until he got his notebook back. Volleyball practice had ended a while ago, so Atsumu should have the notebook at their dorm.

It was a short walk across campus to the blocky building they’d lived in for the past year. Osamu had almost refused to room with Atsumu on general principle, but he couldn’t deny that it was much cheaper to share, and it was still an improvement over living together at their parents’ house. They shared a kitchen and a bathroom, but now they had their own bedrooms, which was the most privacy Osamu had ever experienced. He could hear Atsumu shouting through his closed bedroom door sometimes, but at least he was no longer in the bunk over Osamu’s head.

Osamu let himself into their shared dorm – Atsumu always forgot to lock it – and nearly tripped over a pair of shoes in the middle of the small genkan. Osamu cursed under his breath as he kicked them aside and slipped out of his own boots. “’Tsumu, I toldja to stop leavin’ your damn shoes in front of the door! Next time I’ll throw ‘em out the window!”

“Don’t do that unless you want to shoplift me another pair. They’re designer.”

Osamu froze. That wasn’t Atsumu.

Osamu crept two steps forward to peer into the cramped living room-slash-kitchen combo. Atsumu was nowhere in sight, but Suna Rintarou was on the couch with his feet up and his phone in his hand, lounging back as if he belonged there.

Osamu stared at him, and Suna continued staring at his phone. He looked out of place, as if he existed in a universe parallel but separate from this one; maybe because Osamu had only ever seen him in class or at the gym. He’d never thought he would be in a private space with Suna, especially not the private space of his own dorm.

“What’re you doin’ here?” asked Osamu, before he realized how rude it sounded.

“Waiting for Atsumu to get back. He bought some fancy protein powder but he left it at the gym.” Suna tapped idly at his phone screen. “You want me to leave?”

Of course Suna was there for Atsumu. They were teammates, and probably friends, although Atsumu didn’t talk about him much. Atsumu was the only reason Suna would be there, and if Osamu had entertained any other ideas in the two seconds before Suna had answered, then Osamu was more of a fool than he’d realized.

“No,” he said, moving further into the room. Atsumu’s unzipped gym bag had been discarded by the couch, the contents half-spilled into the floor. “It’s fine.” The pause that followed was awkward for Osamu, but likely not for Suna, who continued to type something on his phone. Osamu said, “You want some water or something?”

“Oh,  _ now _ you’re being nice to me, after you threatened to throw my shoes out the window.” The corner of Suna’s mouth lifted, just barely. “No, thanks.”

Osamu glanced back at the shoes and then to Suna again. “Didja really shoplift ‘em?”

Suna snorted. “No. My mom bought them for me. You think I’m a thief?”

“Dunno. You could be. I don’t know nothin’ about you.”

Suna clicked off his phone screen and raised an eyebrow at Osamu. “I’ve only ever shoplifted bubblegum and Pokémon cards. And that doesn’t even count, my dad found out five minutes after we left the store and made me take the stuff back. I was grounded for six months.”

“Oh,” said Osamu. “Me and ‘Tsumu stole snacks from the konbini one time but we felt bad and went back to pay for ‘em the next day.”

“Lame,” said Suna. He pushed himself more upright and leaned off the edge of the couch to dig through his gym bag. He emerged with Osamu’s notebook and offered it over the back of the couch. “Here. Thought I’d give it back myself since I was coming over. Seemed safer than trusting Atsumu with it.”

“Thanks. Didja get the notes?”

“Yeah, made copies of everything,” said Suna. He swiveled to rest his folded arms on the back of the couch, chin propped on his wrist, looking up at Osamu. “When you said your handwriting is bad I thought you were exaggerating. You weren’t. It’s terrible.”

“Get your notes from somebody else next time, then,” said Osamu, rolling his eyes as he turned away. “Ungrateful.” Maybe this was why Suna never seemed to talk to anyone. He was such a jerk that no one would tolerate him. His pretty face was just a façade, to lure people in so he could crush them with his awful personality.

“Come on, I’m joking,” said Suna. “It’s not like mine is any better. Do you want to study together before the exam? Other than practice I’m free all weekend.”

Osamu scuffed to a stop and turned back slowly. “Why?”

Suna shrugged. “Why not? It’s not like we can make each other dumber. Maybe together we can be one functional student.”

Osamu considered that. He considered what studying with Suna might be like, and considered why Suna was even asking him when he could ask literally anyone else, and considered how bright Suna’s eyes were even in the dim light of the dorm. He said, “Yeah, okay. I have some free time on Sunday.”

“Cool.” Suna twisted back around to grab his phone. “Give me your number. I’ll text you.”

Osamu did. Suna typed the numbers as Osamu recited them and saved it as a new contact. Osamu wasn’t close enough to see what name he’d used, but he hoped it wasn’t just  _ Miya _ .

“I don’t get up before noon on my days off,” said Suna, “so it won’t be early.”

“No problem.” Osamu tapped the notebook against the outside of his thigh. It felt like the conversation was over, but maybe it would be rude to leave Suna sitting here, waiting for Atsumu alone. Or maybe it would be more comfortable for Suna if he did just that; Suna seemed to be fine on his own before he’d gotten there. Osamu glanced around, wondering how much longer Atsumu would be, and belatedly realized their small television was on. It took Osamu a minute too long to realize what was playing because it was the last thing he would have expected. “Are you watching a cooking competition?” he asked.

Suna looked at the tv, as if he’d forgotten it was on. He fished the remote from between the couch cushions to key up the volume. “Yeah, I like when the chef yells at them for messing up. Want to watch it?”

Osamu tried not to sound eager as he said, “Sure.” He sat on the couch beside Suna, at the opposite end but still closer to him than he’d ever expected to be, and hoped his brother got lost on the way back to the dorm.

Sunday afternoon found Osamu in the library, at a corner table seated across from Suna Rintarou. It was difficult to tell if Suna’s hair was as messy as usual. He’d shown up wearing a knit cap pulled down over his ears and hadn’t taken it off even when he’d stripped away his jacket. Little tufts of dark hair curled out and Osamu struggled not to stare at them.

“Read this to me,” said Suna, shoving a photocopy of Osamu’s notes across the table and pointing out a line halfway down the page. “I think you had a stroke while you were writing it, there’s no way it can pass for an actual sentence.”

Suna was rude, but Osamu was beginning to think it wasn’t directed at him in particular. When Atsumu had returned to the dorm with his reclaimed protein powder, Suna hadn’t been overly friendly to him, either. If anything, he’d been more sarcastic with Atsumu than he was with Osamu. That left Osamu with some hope that Suna didn’t hate him.

Osamu took the page with a huff and deciphered the sentence. When he pushed it back across the table, Suna printed a note beneath it, probably a translation of Osamu’s bad penmanship. 

“If you’d stay awake in class you wouldn’t have this problem,” said Osamu, as he returned to his own notes. He tapped his pen against his notebook and tried to absorb something, anything, but his head was too full of Suna. He didn’t think this study session would help him much with the exam.

“It’s my one flaw,” said Suna with a smirk. “If I was a good student I’d be too perfect. It would be unfair to the rest of the world.”

Osamu snorted. “I’m startin’ to see why you get along with my brother. You’re both fulla yourselves.”

“Who said we get along?” Suna doodled a messy twist of lines at the top of his notes. “I already have his murder planned. Someday he’ll push me too far and I’ll do it.”

“Get in line.”

Suna laughed, a short bark that shouldn’t have been attractive but somehow was. “Maybe we can do it together. Be each other’s alibis.”

“Yeah,” said Osamu, and his crush on Suna had blossomed so far that the thought of committing a murder together was almost romantic. “Maybe.”

Suna took a sip of coffee – he’d brought two cups from the on-campus café and had said nothing as he’d placed one in front of Osamu when he’d shown up – and frowned down at his notes. “You must’ve been tired at this point in the lecture. It’s getting worse.”

“Then find somebody else to study with,” grumbled Osamu, flipping a page in his notebook. “I won’t try and help you anymore.”

“That wasn’t even rude, I was just making an observation. Keep pouting if you want though, it’s cute.” Suna pushed his chair back and stood, grabbing his handful of loose pages and circling the table. “I have a better idea.” He plopped into the chair beside Osamu and scooted close, dropping his notes on top of Osamu’s. “Read them to me. I’ll remember better if I hear it out loud, anyway.”

Osamu stared at the photocopies. He turned his head toward Suna, who leaned on the table with his chin propped in his hand, expectant.

Suna just called him cute. He must have been joking, though. It was probably sarcasm.

“I’m not readin’ to you,” said Osamu, a little belatedly.

“Why not? You have a nice voice. Serenade me with knowledge.”

Osamu frowned at him. “You can read just fine.”

“Not when it’s your handwriting.”

Osamu slapped his notebook shut, Suna’s papers crinkling inside. “If you’re gonna be a dick then study on your own, I’m not gonna sit here and-”

“No, wait, I’m joking! Come on, sit back down.” Suna tugged at Osamu’s sleeve, clearly fighting back a smile. “I’m just messing with you. It’s not that bad, I can read it, I just want you to read it to me instead.”

Osamu huffed as he dropped back into his seat. “Why?”

“I learn better that way. It’s good for you too, saying it out loud will help you remember. That’s science.” Suna gave him a lazy grin. “I’ll buy you lunch or something. Atsumu says you can be bribed with food.”

“’Tsumu’s a liar,” said Osamu, although in this case that was mostly true.

“I won’t argue with that.” Suna plucked the notebook from Osamu’s hand and flipped it open again. He smoothed out the wrinkled pages and said, “Let’s start here, it’s where things get confusing.”

Osamu watched Suna from the corner of his eye. “You know I’m not smart, right? I took notes ‘cause I can’t fail another class this year, but that don’t mean I know anything about this. I’m just as lost as you.”

“We’ll be lost together, then.” Suna folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them, face turned toward Osamu. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

Osamu wanted to keep arguing, because he still didn’t know why Suna was here or why he wanted to study together or why he was looking at Osamu like that, with half-lidded eyes and a smile so subtle that it could have been Osamu’s imagination.

But it felt like a losing battle, so Osamu took a drink of his free coffee, tracked his place on the page with the end of his pen, and started reading. 

He expected Suna to fall asleep, the same way he did during class. But Suna stayed alert even in his slouch, his eyes closing for only a few seconds at a time. They always returned to Osamu.

When Osamu paused to turn a page, Suna said, “You know I wasn’t serious, right?”

“’Bout what?”

“When I said I’m perfect. I was kidding. I don’t want you to think I’m really that arrogant. I have lots of problems, and falling asleep during class is the least of them.”

“Oh,” said Osamu. He’d already forgotten Suna had said it. He was surprised Suna was still thinking about that. “Yeah, I know. Well, I guess I didn’t know, but now I do.” He paused and said, “Are you even listenin’?”

Suna smiled again. “Yeah, I’m listening.” He settled more comfortably onto his arms and one of his knees brushed against Osamu’s thigh. “Keep going. You’ve almost earned lunch.”

“It’d better be a damn good lunch,” said Osamu, dragging his stare away from Suna to refocus on his notes. “You’re a real hassle, Sunarin.”

Suna laughed, more softly than before, and Osamu fought back a flush as he started reading.

On Thursday, Osamu arrived to class earlier than usual. It was partly because he wanted some time for a final frantic review of his notes, but also because he didn’t stop by the café on his way to the lecture hall like usual. They were no longer allowed to have drinks or snacks during exam days after someone had found a clever way to cheat by writing hints on their coffee cup. Osamu wished he’d been the one to think of it. He’d failed that exam in particular.

Osamu traced a sentence with his finger, chanted it in the back of his head in the hopes that he would remember it, and was distracted when someone collapsed into the seat right beside him. He glanced up, surprised. No one had sat there since the beginning of the semester. He’d always been on the end by himself. He didn’t know why anyone would suddenly change their routine and-

“Hey,” said Suna, his hair disheveled and his clothes appearing as if he’d chosen them from a pile on the floor. “Ready to get a perfect exam score?”

“I’ve never had a perfect exam score,” said Osamu, “but I think I won’t fail. Maybe.”

“Yeah, same. I’ve got your voice in my head now, telling me all the answers.” Suna grinned and it was devastatingly handsome; even with his disastrous hair, even with his dark rings and sleepy eyes, even with his slightly crooked teeth. 

“You shouldn’t listen to me,” said Osamu, unable to look away. “I toldja I’m not smart.”

“You’re smart enough. Not a genius, but who is.” Suna stretched out his legs and slouched in his chair. At the front of the lecture hall their professor appeared with a stack of stapled exam packets. Suna watched Osamu pack away his notes and said, “Do you want to get coffee after this? I might die without it.”

“I guess so, if that’s the only way to keep you alive.”

“It really is.” Suna dug into his hoodie pocket and emerged with a pencil. “Also dinner tomorrow night. I might die without that too. You should take me somewhere.”

Osamu stared at him. A few rows ahead, the professor said something about the exam as she started handing out the packets, but Osamu didn’t hear it. 

Did Suna just ask him on a date? 

“Okay,” said Osamu slowly. “I’ll take ya to dinner.”

Suna’s grin pulled wider. “Good. I’ll wear something nice. Might even comb my hair.”

Was Suna  _ flirting _ with him?

The professor passed Osamu an exam packet and he took it automatically. “One seat over,” she said to Suna, gesturing as she handed him a packet too. Suna wordlessly complied, and Osamu was both disappointed by the distance and grateful that it gave him more space to think. He turned to the first page of his exam, took a steadying breath, and tried to focus on passing this class instead of Suna’s smile.

They had dinner on Friday night. They met at a restaurant just off campus and Osamu bought Suna a bowl of Sapporo ramen. They talked as they ate, about volleyball and classes and their average-but-passing exam scores from the day before. Osamu spent the entire time wondering if it was a date.

He thought it was, at first. The way Suna had invited him to dinner had certainly sounded like a date. Osamu had even given in and asked Atsumu if he’d ever taken Suna out to dinner, in case it was a friendship thing, and Atsumu had looked at him as if he was certifiably insane. 

By the end of the night, Osamu wasn’t so sure. It hadn’t felt like a date. It had been like spending time with a friend, and there was nothing awkward or romantic about it. Maybe his crush on Suna had made him read the situation wrong. Suna wanted to be friends with him the way he was friends with Atsumu and that was all.

Osamu spent the next day trying to convince himself of that, and did a fairly good job of it until Sunday. 

He woke up late, as he did mostly every weekend. He spent the day in his room, watching movies on his laptop and eating snacks in bed and trying to enjoy his day off before he had to drag back to classes. Atsumu was there for part of the day, bustling around the kitchen and making more noise than was necessary. Osamu knew when he left for practice because the dorm became blissfully quiet. 

Maybe Osamu dozed off for a little while, maybe he didn’t. He became aware that a few hours had passed only when the slam of the front door signaled Atsumu’s return. 

“Always gotta slam the damn door,” mumbled Osamu as he escaped from the willing prison of his bedsheets. He yanked on a pair of sweatpants, pushed his hair out of his face, and emerged from his room to harass his brother. He expected to find him in the kitchen, mixing together a post-practice protein shake, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere.

But Suna was, lounging on the couch as if he lived there, too.

Osamu stared at him, too groggy to immediately react. Suna stared back, one eyebrow raised, the collar of his team jacket popped up to his jaw. 

“Where’s ‘Tsumu?” said Osamu.

“Out with some of the guys.”

“Why’re you here?”

“They’re embarrassing and I didn’t want to go.”

“No,” said Osamu, “I mean why are you _here_? If you know Atsumu’s not.”

“Because,” said Suna slowly, as if speaking to a child, “I didn’t come here to see Atsumu.”

It took Osamu too long to realize what he meant. His brain capacity was too low from a long day of inactivity. When he did, he also realized that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looked down at himself, back at Suna, and wordlessly went back to his room. 

When he emerged again he was a little more alert and a little less naked. He dropped onto the end of the couch, one leg curled beneath him to face Suna, who hadn’t moved.

“That’s a shame,” said Suna, gesturing at Osamu’s chest. “I was enjoying the view.”

“Are you flirting with me?” said Osamu, because he didn’t think he could spend another week wondering.

Suna looked at his arm as if checking his watch, although he wasn’t wearing one. “Look at that. It only took you two weeks to get it. Of course I’m flirting with you, I couldn’t be more obvious.”

“Obvious?” repeated Osamu, even as heat rose to his face. “Whataya mean, obvious? There was nothin’ obvious about it!”

“We had a dinner date on Friday night,” said Suna, leaning into the couch with a smirk. “And a coffee date before that. And a lunch date before that.”

“How was I supposed to know those were dates?” said Osamu. He couldn’t decide if he was more embarrassed by this conversation or more pleased that Suna wanted to go on dates with him. Probably the latter. “It’s not like we kissed or anything.”

Suna’s smile curved higher. “Do you want to?”

Osamu was grateful for the dim dorm lighting. He hoped Suna couldn’t see how hot his face was. “Ain’t that what people do when they date?”

“I guess you’re right.” Suna crawled closer and sat cross-legged on the middle cushion, his knees bumping Osamu’s leg. He smelled like citrus soap; he must have showered after practice. His hair still looked a little damp. “If I kiss you, can we order takeout and have a stay-at-home date?”

Osamu’s stare dipped down to Suna’s mouth. “Yeah, if you’re buyin’.”

Suna laughed under his breath. “Rude.”

“I bought you dinner the other night. It’s your turn.”

“Sure, okay.” Suna leaned close and braced a hand on the arm of the couch, caging Osamu in. “I’ll buy.”

“Okay then.”

They stayed like that for a few long, dragging seconds. Suna’s eyes were darker than usual, his hair clean but tousled, his breath warm against Osamu’s cheek.

Eventually, Suna said, “Anytime you’re ready.”

Osamu rolled his eyes, curled a hand into the front of Suna’s jacket, and yanked him in. 

It was a good kiss, when Osamu got past his awkwardness and kissed Suna properly. It was a little soft, a little cautious, and it made Osamu feel very warm. When he pulled away, with the taste of Suna still on his lips, Suna’s cheeks were flushed too. 

Osamu grinned at him. He really liked Suna.

“Now that you know we’ve been dating,” said Suna, readjusting to kick his legs off the couch and slouch back, “let’s order that takeout. Delivery is preferred. I hate being a functional member of society on the weekends.” He leaned into Osamu’s shoulder as he searched between the cushions.

“Yeah, okay. I don’t really wanna go outside, either. Sounds awful.” 

“Glad we agree.” Suna emerged with the tv remote and offered it to Osamu. “Want to watch a cooking show?”

Osamu ignored the remote and kissed Suna instead, just because he could, just because he wanted to. Suna grinned against his mouth and kissed him back, one hand slipping through Osamu’s unruly hair.

“I wish you’d caught on sooner,” said Suna, the words mumbled against Osamu’s lips. “We could’ve been doing this for at least a week.”

“Your fault,” said Osamu. He pressed another kiss against Suna’s mouth, lingered. “Guess we’ll hafta make up for lost time.”

“Yeah,” said Suna, smiling. “I guess we will.”


End file.
